The Visit
It went wrong,
two days to visit my former life
as a Londoner.
Old men in East End pubs
knew my past
but the tour bus
did not pass that way.
Trips around Buckingham Palace,
the Tower of London,
no time to visit the grey hovels
of a hobbled childhood.
London forgot to be me.
My childhood buried too deep
to find word of itself.
After the sight-seeing
we drove to the high moors
and green hills,
places where my footprints
could still be traced on local maps.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
